


Heat

by AmandaKitswell



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 08:46:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11009985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaKitswell/pseuds/AmandaKitswell
Summary: While Ferelden's recovery from the chaos of the Blight is far from over, the country still seems to be putting its pieces back together. Arais, however, finds the shattered remains of her life more difficult to repair.





	Heat

**_6 Harvestmere, 9:31 Dragon_ **

****She felt as if she were baking in the heat.

Her body, slick with sweat, gripped at the thin cotton tunic Arais wore beneath her Warden robes like a second skin. Maker, had it been a mistake to remain in them all the way back to Redcliffe, but how could she have expected this heat to persist into early autumn? Loose tendrils of hair which had escaped from her braid were matted to her cheeks and forehead. Beads of sweat slid down along her throat to the collar of her tunic, which was so soaked it now burned against her skin if she so much as turned her head.

Were she not now on the outskirts of Redcliffe village, she might have chilled the air around her, but she didn’t want to risk the tenuous trust she had built with the people of Redcliffe after Connor’s possession. The sudden dip in temperature could ignite a panic she was not prepared to extinguish; the air had chilled to near freezing when the sun set and the dead started to pour through the gates and rise from Lake Calenhad. They had attacked from all sides.

Maybe she should have taken a boat from Kinloch Hold after her stay at the Spoiled Princess. In the privacy of a boat, she'd have at least been able to use her magic to cool herself down. As it was, though, she still had the horse Isolde had been kind enough to loan her to think of, and no amount of comfort for her sake would have been worth entrusting Val’s safety to someone she hardly knew, no matter how indebted they may feel to the Hero of Ferelden. She had enemies, too, and she was not naive enough to believe otherwise, nor to think they would not pose as her ally until given the proper means to act against her.

Maker, when had she become so paranoid?

Was it truly paranoia, though? Concern for those for whom she cared most was not new to her, and while it might have been heightened since the Blight had ended, since losing . . . well, she hardly thought it inappropriate to worry those she angered might turn to those she loved in order to hurt her. That, as much as it pained her to admit, was not something she was unfamiliar with, either.

She passed beneath a thick canopy of leaves, branches tangled together over the path like the limbs of lovers, their mingled breath the soft breeze which whispered across her cheeks. A wisp of Val’s mane tickled the backs of her fingers as she gripped at the reins. The wind had been so sparse, almost nonexistent, and it was gone as soon as it had come. Just as quickly, she was cast back into the harsh glare of summer, and she felt the loss of the shade in the way her skin seemed to sizzle beneath the unrelenting sun.

She approached the gates to Redcliffe Castle, and the guards bowed low before her. Her cheeks, hot as they already were, burned even hotter as they raised the gate and let her into the courtyard. Over a dozen soldiers - far fewer than she was accustomed to see training, though she hardly blamed them in this heat - stopped their exercises to watch as she rode past, and most lowered their heads out of respect. Val was more in charge than she should be as Arais suffocated under the weight of the attention she received, simply for existing as herself.

A young boy, barely a teenager, took the reins from Arais to lead Val the rest of the way to the stables, and she jumped when she felt his hand brush against hers. She shook herself free of the weight settled over her - the anxiety which would crush her if she let it - and she had never been more relieved to hear the sounds of arrows piercing canvas and metal striking metal as the soldiers went about their training as usual once more.

The corner of her mouth turned up in a small smile when the horse came to a stop and the boy reached his hand up to help her down. Capable though she may have been to dismount on her own, she took the boy’s hand and allowed him to aid her. It was sweet, and far be it from her to discourage his kindness.

He bowed low and as he came back up, she was struck with a sudden pang of familiarity. His sandy blond hair was longer now, and there was dirt smeared across his tanned face, but those piercing blue eyes . . . she had last seen them alight with awe as they stared at a curved blade with gold filigree in the handle, found in a locked chest in his own home.

“Bevin?”

His eyes widened, and his cheeks turned a rather ruddy shade of red. “Y-Yes. I didn’t think you would remember me, ma’am.”

“Of course I do. You helped save a lot of lives when we met. I could never forget that.”

“I . . .” His brows knit together, and he looked confused. “I did?”

She nodded, and put a hand on his shoulder. “You let us borrow your grandfather’s sword, and Ali--”-she felt her heart skip a beat, and caught herself-“my friend was able to use it instead of his own, worn sword.”

There was a moment when doubt lingered in the soft features of Bevin’s face, but it was soon wiped away by a proud smile. “I suppose I did help.” The smile faded a little as a question settled in his narrowed eyes. “If your friend's sword was so worn, why didn’t you keep Grandfather's?”

She was taken aback - it had seemed obvious to her at the time, but as she rolled the question over in her mind, she realized that may not be the case. She mulled over how she should respond, and picked her words carefully. “A sword like my friend’s can be forged by any blacksmith who knows their craft and knows it well,” she said, and she knelt down so she was closer to eye level with Bevin. “But your grandfather’s sword is special. It’s unique because he wielded it, and he meant for it to be passed on to you, in time.”

She didn’t mention she had at one point thought she sensed magic in the blade, the metal warm when she held it and never cool. It wasn’t important, at least not as far as she was concerned. “I wanted you to hold onto it until you’re old enough to wield it yourself, because I believe it’s what your grandfather would have wanted.”

His smile grew at that. “Thank you, ma’am. Sister still thinks I’m too young to fight with real swords, but maybe someday I’ll be allowed to train with the soldiers here.”

“I’m sure the arl would be happy to have you among his ranks,” she said, her smile coming with some difficulty. She definitely didn’t feel as sure as she sounded. Putting any faith in Eamon to do such a thing didn’t fill her with any sense of confidence. He had been quick enough to allow Alistair to be sent off to the templars, and he had been a boy who looked upon the arl as one would a father.

And, after the behavior he exhibited during the Landsmeet, the last thing he inspired within her was trust.

She grit her teeth to keep the smile on her face. “Where is Kaitlyn?” she asked.

“In the castle!” His voice conveyed all the exuberance glittering in his eyes, and he bounced on the balls of his feet. “Lady Isolde asked her to work as a servant in the kitchens after . . . everything that happened. And Bann Teagan suggested I help in the stables, too.” The corners of his lips quirked into a mischievous grin. “I think Kaitlyn fancies him.”

Her heart clenched, and her stomach did a little flip. It took a determined effort to keep herself from allowing the smile to fall from her face. “Where have you and your sister been staying? I know many of the homes in the village were damaged when the darkspawn attacked.”

“Our house was burned bad, so we live in the servants’ quarters, for now. Murdock says we should be able to move home before winter, but . . . I like it here. Especially when the arl’s brother visits. He checks in on all of the villagers who lost their homes.” His expression fell a bit, and the excitement drained from his eyes, replaced with longing. “I wish he came more. The arl isn’t as nice as he is.” His shoulders tensed, and his lips contorted into a frown. “I shouldn’t have said that; please don’t tell Arl Eamon I spoke badly of him. He’s been kind to let us stay here.”

“It’s all right, Bevin,” she said. “I promise I won’t say anything.”

The boy stared at her for a long moment, and he seemed to consider her words very carefully. When she offered him a sympathetic smile - a concerted effort to show she truly didn’t judge him for feeling the way he did - he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her neck in a tight hug. She blinked, and it took her a moment to respond; she placed her hands on his back and patted softly, and allowed him to hold her.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet.

“Bevin!” a voice called from the stables, and she looked up to see the horsemaster, arms crossed, staring at them with narrowed eyes. “Val needs to be watered and fed, boy. Get on it!”

He stepped back, an embarrassed smile twisting his lips up as he turned away from her. “Yes, ser. Sorry.”

Reins in hand, Bevin moved to walk away, and Arais stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at her, a question in his glimmering blue eyes, and she simply reached into her coin purse and pulled out a few sovereigns. “Take this,” she said, and slipped them into his free hand.

He stared at them for a moment, and didn’t seem to register what it was at first. When he did, though, he stared up at her with the awe one could only expect from a child as the embarrassment melted away. She offered him a smile, but before she could stand, before she could even move, a series of sharp, excited barks closed in before she was knocked on her arse, a wide tongue lapping at her face.

She heard Bevin’s giggle, cut short by another sharp command from the horsemaster, and when she was at last able to free herself from Barkspawn’s rather wet welcome, Bevin had disappeared into the stables. She turned her attention back to her mabari, and dark brown eyes stared at her expectantly. She shook her head, exasperated, and grinned. “Hey, handsome. I take it you missed me?” she asked, scratching him behind the ears.

His bark was sharp, affirmative, and his wagging tail picked up speed.

“I missed you, too, boy. Did you have fun?”

Barkspawn launched himself from side to side, and slobber whipped from his hanging tongue. He stopped short and rolled onto his back, and met her eyes before he let out a series of whines. She pushed herself to her knees and leaned over to rub his belly, and he let out a soft woof of approval.

When he’d had his fill, he turned onto his stomach, contentment shining on his face. “I hope you behaved yourself while I was gone,” she said. His eyes narrowed a bit, as if to say, ‘Of course I did,’ and she giggled. “Silly of me to ever consider otherwise; I apologize.”

He seemed to accept her apology, and pushed himself up to stand. She followed suit, and he bumped her thigh before he trotted off, a signal she should follow. He picked up speed as he neared a group of soldiers. A man with skin darker than hers and deep black braids arranged in impeccable, even rows lowered himself to one knee to greet the eager hound. Barkspawn shared a comfortable rapport with him; it was nice to know he wasn’t just a tool to these men.

The man looked up as she approached, and as he took in the emblem on her chest, he rose to his feet, a glimmer of sheepishness flickering in his dark eyes. “Warden Amell,” he said by way of greeting, the vowels curving around a Rivaini accent. He bowed his head. “An honor, as always.”

She returned the gesture, and patted Barkspawn’s head as he settled himself beside her. “It’s good to see you again, Zhaal. How has he fared in training?”

“Better than we have. He’s an unforgiving sparring partner; keeps the men sharp.”

Barkspawn let out a happy bark and lifted his muzzle, looking at her with a prideful glow in his eyes. A soft breeze kicked up, and he took off after a leaf which blew past. Arais chuckled, joined by none too few of the men who had gathered behind Zhaal, and she realized it was almost too easy to forget Barkspawn was, at his core, a dog.

When he was thoroughly invested in the chase, she turned back to Zhaal. “Aside from training with my overzealous mabari, how has Redcliffe been recovering?”

“As well as can be expected, ma’am.” Zhaal pursed his lips. “The villagers who have been displaced by structural damage to their homes have either taken refuge with others who fared better during the undead attacks and the Blight, or have been given shelter here in the castle.”

“The stable boy mentioned he and his sister have been staying in the servants’ quarters.”

“Quite a few of the folks staying here have come on as servants, to replace those lost during the attacks,” he confirmed. “Those who don’t have any other means of supporting their families, at any rate. Most who had a business they could still run after the Blight found refuge with another villager.”

“It was kind of Arl Eamon and Arlessa Isolde to take in displaced families,” she said, and tried to keep the disbelief out of her voice. Not that she didn’t think Isolde capable of kindness, but her focus was on her remaining months with Connor, and Arais could hardly fault her if she lost sight of her other duties in that time.

Zhaal nodded. “It is, though,” and here he stepped forward, and when he continued his thought, his voice was quiet, “I suspect much of it has to do with Bann Teagan’s influence.”

“Oh?” she said in reply, and again, she felt her stomach somersault in place.

 _I think Kaitlyn fancies him_.

Bevin’s words echoed over and over in her head, drowning out Zhaal’s voice as he spoke, and her heart clenched. Maker, she shouldn’t be surprised. She hadn’t seen Teagan since the week following when she had awoken from her coma. And then, she had been weak, not entirely herself, and she couldn’t expect whatever may have happened - before the march on Denerim and after the archdemon fell - to mean anything.

Even if, to her, it had felt like everything.

She hoped the way her lips curved into a frown didn’t reveal too much to Zhaal, who looked upon her with concern.

“Is everything all right, my lady?” he asked.

“Yes,” she lied. “Yes, I’m fine.” Funny, repeating it almost helped her believe it. “Just a bit overheated, I suppose.” She unhooked her waterskin from its place on her belt and took the last sip. She hadn’t even realized it was so low. “Is there somewhere I can fill this?”

“The water pump is just over there, by the sparring chambers,” he said, gesturing across the courtyard, near where Barkspawn had disappeared in his pursuit of the errant leaf.

She lowered her head and turned to walk away, but stopped when she felt Zhaal’s gentle fingers grip her forearm.

She looked up at him, and his dark eyes held her in place. “Are you certain you’re well?”

She offered as much of a smile as she could muster, and she found herself incapable of lying to him further. However, when she tried to explain, the words would not come, so she settled on a vague, “I will be.”

His hand fell away from her arm as she walked away.

The water pump proved to be a challenge, and her initial attempt to simply pump water directly into her waterskin was a resounding failure. Even the effort it took to fill the bucket beneath the spout was extensive, and it made her armor that much more unbearable in the oppressive heat. She caught her reflection in the water sloshing gently in the bucket, and, horrified, she pushed the matted hair off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear.

Her patience worn thin under the way the high collar rubbed her throat raw, and how tight the leather chin guards and vambraces seemed to grip her, she unbuckled her armor and shed it piece by piece. She heaved a breathy sigh as relief washed over her, as satisfying as any breeze. She set everything into a small pile and was readying herself to go into the castle when a loud thud sounded from behind the door nearby.

Brow furrowed, she approached slowly, placing her armor on the bench beside her before pushing the door open. When she crossed into the chambers, she saw Ser Perth lying flat on his back as he took short, shallow breaths. His hands rested on his exposed stomach, his tunic lifted haphazardly up to his chest. His eyes were clenched shut, and she couldn’t tell if he was actually hurt, or just in shock.

The person she assumed put him in that position stood facing away from her, his hands pressed into his hips as his shoulders lifted slightly. The sunlight filtered in around her and reflected off the slick, bare skin of his back, rippling around lean muscle as he held out his hand to his fallen partner. Her cheeks burned, and she looked away just as Perth opened his eyes and took the proffered hand.

As he pulled Perth to his feet, the other man said, “Impressive moves,” and a jolt of recognition coursed through her.

Teagan.

Oh, Maker. Arais hadn’t been prepared to see him quite yet, and her heart set off like a frightened rabbit. Her shoulders tensed, and she fell back a step. She turned on her heel to beat a hasty retreat to the door.

“And you, as well, my lord,” she heard Perth say, and she was just about to cross the threshold when a slightly astonished, “Warden Amell?” stopped her cold.

She took in a shaky breath, a feeble attempt to settle her nerves, and turned to face the two men with an unsteady smile. It took a decided effort to keep her attention off Teagan's bewildered expression. “Ser Perth,” she said. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“Nor I, you,” he said with a smile, though his eyes betrayed a note of self-consciousness. “I do wish it had been under more favorable circumstances, however.”

“You were a formidable opponent,” Teagan said. “You needn’t worry.”

“That’s easy for you to say; you’re not the one who wound up on his back.”

Teagan laughed, and her eyes were drawn to him. She watched the way his chest rose and fell with the after effects of his exertion. She forced her gaze up to his eyes, and saw a note of something dark, even brooding, beneath the twinkle of amusement.

“True enough.” Mirth gave way to worry, and he placed a hand on Perth’s shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

“Nothing a few hours’ rest won’t heal.” Perth’s eyes shifted to look past Arais, outside. “Which, it seems, will have to wait for some time yet. I should return to the Chantry and see how repairs are coming along.”

While Teagan seemed unconvinced, he did not voice his continued concern. “If there is anything you need, send word to me here at the castle.”

Perth only nodded in response, and bowed his head to Teagan before he walked to the door. He stopped in front of Arais, and offered a warm smile. “A pleasure, as always, Warden,” he said, and she stepped aside as he walked past.

She stared after him, and felt an aching dread build in her chest as he closed the door behind him. If there was one thing for which she was most certainly not ready, it was to be left alone with Teagan. Not after what Bevin said; certainly not after learning her feelings were likely one sided. She closed her eyes and took one breath, and another, before she could bring herself to look at him again.

“Is everything all right, Arais?” he asked.

When she met Teagan’s eyes, she found his concern had shifted to her. It made her stomach lurch, and she swallowed hard. “Y-Yes,” she said, and her ability to hold his gaze faltered. Her eyes fell to his chest. “I’m fine.”

She chewed at her bottom lip; of course, of course she noticed the dusting of hair across his chest, and the way it trailed down, until it disappeared beneath the hem of his trousers. She was certain her cheeks burned hotter than they ever had before, and she forced herself to look away. She took slow breaths, tried to center herself, but heat enveloped her and it was clear summer wasn’t entirely to blame any longer.

“Are you certain you’re well?”

Her back pressed into the wall when he moved forward, close enough for her to smell him. She couldn’t look him in the eye, not yet, but when her eyes settled on his mouth, she saw the corners of his lips turned down into a frown.

“You look far more flushed than this heat would warrant.”

“It’s nothing, really, I feel well enough.” Her gaze fell from his face, to his stomach, and her heart thrummed as she followed a rivulet of sweat as it slipped along the contours of his muscles. His kindness was boundless, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could handle being so near him.

Water. She needed water. Her hand fell to her hip, and she closed her eyes against a wave of irritation as she realized she’d left her waterskin outside with her armor. She slipped around him, toward the water basin opposite the door, and heard his footsteps follow, hesitantly. It felt as if his eyes bored holes into her as she leaned over and splashed water across her face, which did little to relieve her of the fever which could soon overwhelm her.

When she opened her eyes and caught a glimpse of him in her periphery, much closer than she had expected, she jumped and caught the basin with her thigh, nearly knocking it off balance. The sounds of water sloshing and her erratic breathing were all she heard as she reached out to steady it, her hand brushing Teagan’s as he did the same. A bolt of heat shot through her, and she physically recoiled, moving away until, again, her back hit the wall.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She looked at everything, _anything_ except him, but she could feel her resolve crumbling. He was in front of her now, and she was failing to concentrate on anything but his musk, the way it permeated the air around her. He wasn’t even standing all that close.

What had come over her?

She tried to speak, to lie and say it was fine, she was fine, but words failed her. She stood silent and stared at the wooden floorboards. Water dripped from her hair, the tip of her nose, her chin. Droplets slid down her throat, over her collarbone, to settle between her breasts. Her whole body shivered, quaked as shockwaves rocked through her, leaving her breathless.

When he came back into view - when he was standing so near to her there was nothing but him, his body, his scent - she stiffened. He touched an achingly gentle finger to her chin, urged her to turn her head up. She couldn’t stop herself from letting him move her, so she shifted her gaze to the ceiling, the wall behind him, anywhere but him.

“Arais?” Teagan said, and his voice was pleading, insistent. Worried. “Arais, look at me, please.”

Her stomach flipped and her heart beat a wild rhythm in her chest, but she was helpless to resist when he seemed so incredibly pained by her actions. So she didn’t. She allowed her gaze to meet his, and if there was darkness in his eyes earlier, it had been overpowered by what she found there now. He looked at her the way he had before the march on Denerim, and when she had woken from her coma; it was everything she convinced herself she bore alone. When he slid his hand to cup her cheek, and leaned so close she could feel his breath brush along her face, her fragile control shattered.

She closed the distance between them, and heat seared through her from where their lips met. Her arms snaked around his neck, and she strained to hold her balance, to keep from falling completely into him as she stood on tiptoe to reach. But when his hands fell to her waist and held her steady, when the tips of his fingers massaged her lower back and the warmth of his palms burned through the thin cotton of her tunic, her eyes flew open with a start and she pushed him away.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed around heavy pants. Her stomach tightened and she felt nauseous, mortified by what she had just done. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Arais…” he started.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, I just -”

“Arais.”

She shook her head. “You don’t have to say anything. I should . . . go tell Isolde I -”

“ _Arais!_ ”

She jumped, and looked up to him when his hands gripped her waist. The deep blue of his eyes swirled with a tumultuous storm, and she was swept away by the intensity, the _need_ she saw there. She gasped when his hands slid to her hips and her back hit the wall, hard.

“Please, just stop _apologizing_.”

One corner of his mouth turned up in a teasing smirk as her breath came hard and fast. She almost missed it when something snapped - _he_ snapped - and his lips met hers so suddenly she was knocked off balance. His lips moved to her jawline, down her throat until he nipped at her collarbone, and his hands slid up, pushed up her tunic until his fingers scorched along the bare skin of her waist, around to her back.

His blunt nails dragged down, and she gasped as his hands found her backside and lifted her from the ground. He pinned her against the wall with his body, and when she felt his arousal press against her, a cry bubbled up in her throat and she bit into his shoulder to muffle it. She rolled her hips, her breath escaping in one long moan as she desperately sought to be closer, to feel more of him.

A groan rumbled so deep in his chest, she felt it vibrate against her breasts. “Maker’s breath, Arais,” he murmured into the hollow of her shoulder as he found a rhythm with her, and she whimpered at the feel of him.

His hand came up between them, and slipped beneath her tunic to cup her breast and knead gently. He plucked her nipple through her breast band in time with each thrust of his hips. She could feel her lungs collapse as the air rushed past her lips, billowed across his shoulder and she couldn’t inhale, couldn’t replace the air she lost and her head spun.

Her hands came back up to his hair, clung tight to auburn curls as she felt herself drawn tighter, tighter, so tight she thought she might snap in half. She tilted his head back, sought his mouth with her own as her legs tightened around him, brought him closer as she continued to roll her hips. One last stroke against her, and she came undone beneath him. Her skin ablaze, she pressed her forehead into the hollow of his shoulder, and bit at her bottom lip hard enough to hurt as she struggled to contain the sounds escaping her throat.

She kissed him, but he stopped suddenly. She almost protested until she saw the blood smeared across his lips. “Are you bleeding?” she asked through panting breaths, brushing a thumb across his bottom lip, and she worried she may have hurt him in her distraction.

“I believe it’s you who is bleeding,” he said, equally breathless, with a shake of his head. He touched a finger to her lip, and she recoiled from the stinging touch. Maker, she knew she’d bitten herself hard, but hadn’t thought it would be enough to draw blood.

He settled her on her feet, caught her by the shoulders when her knees buckled beneath her. She leaned heavily against the wall, and her smile was sheepish as she looked up at him. Her mind still reeled as she pressed the inside of her sleeve to her injured lip. It had been so long, she had almost forgotten what it was like.

As the feeling of disorientation began to fade, she heard the door click and begin to creak open, and panic quickly overwhelmed her. She eased herself away from the wall and quickly straightened her clothes. While Teagan did the same, they both noticed a rather obvious problem.

Arais pushed him away from her and toward the water trough.

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked in a harsh whisper, barely audible over the creak of the door.

“I don’t know! Act like you’re rinsing your face or something.” She straightened her tunic and neatened her braid as best she could. “Just, whatever you do, don’t turn around until . . . well, you know!”

When the door had opened fully, Isolde stepped through, her hand still on the doorknob. “Teagan, the servants have announced lunch will be served - Arais!” Eyes wide, Isolde gave Arais a warm smile. “I was not told you had come.”

There was a strangled sort of choking noise from near the water trough, very close to a laugh. Arais narrowed her eyes at the back of Teagan’s head, dimly aware the only person who could actually see her was Isolde. Arais turned back to her. “I only arrived an hour ago. I’m sure no one though to let you know I had arrived.”

Isolde eyed Teagan curiously - or perhaps it was suspiciously - when the water in the trough was disturbed. “Is everything all right, Teagan?”

“Hmm?” he hummed, and water dripped from his face as he turned his head to look at his sister-in-law. “Ah, yes. I’m perfectly fine. I was just sparring.” He raised his hand and splashed water on the back of his neck. “Things became quite intense, and with the heat, I needed more than just a break from the exercise to cool down.”

“I see,” she said, eyes narrowed and lips drawn into a thin line. “Well, as I said, lunch will be served quite soon. Arais, you are more than welcome to join us.”

“Thank you, Isolde.” Arais bowed her head.

She turned to Teagan, who had turned around. He had bowed his head as well, his hands clasped behind his back. His hair was soaked, and the water dripped down his chest to his stomach. Arais looked away before she was stuck with yet another problem to deal with.

When Isolde left the sparring chamber after one last glance at each of them, Arais leaned against the wall and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, and nearly jumped out of her own skin when Teagan did the same beside her. She looked over at him, and his eyes he stared across the room, arms crossed over his chest.

He turned to look at her. “Do you think she knows?”

She shrugged, and her cheeks burned just the slightest bit. “Well, she is certainly suspicious something might have happened, but I don’t think she knows exactly what that something is.”

“I will admit, I am not sure of what happened myself,” he said, and his eyes bored into hers.

She looked away, and her cheeks were definitely hot, as if they would go up in flames. “Neither am I,” she admitted. “I just . . . Maker, I don’t know. I suppose I just couldn’t control myself.” Her mind was a flurry of missed opportunities and attraction she didn’t know what to do with. “I haven’t felt this way since I was barely of age in the CIrcle.”

“And what is it you feel?” he asked. “If you’re comfortable saying, that is.”

“That’s just it,” she said. “I don’t know. I was just as confused then as I am now. I suppose the only thing I know right now is I’ve gone from being completely in control of myself to having very little with you. I’m not like this!” She hugged her arms tighter to her chest. “I couldn’t even tell you how I feel without lying to placate you. All I feel right now is this utter and complete confusion.”

“I see.” He let his arms fall to his side. “Well, there is no rush for you to figure this out. You can take all the time you need,” he said, and when she looked over at him in surprise, he was wearing a warm, understanding smile. “I believe we both have a lot to think about.”

“That we do,” she replied with a smile, and, after deliberating with herself for more than a moment, sidled closer to him. His arm snaked behind her back and his hand gently grasped her waist to pull her to his side.

She was surprised when he placed a kiss to the top of her head. “One thing I am sure of, however, is I will have a hard time forgetting what just happened.”

“As will I.”

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to jarebear20 and Merlinda_Dragon for betaing. It was a wreck before they got their hands on it.


End file.
